i’m Arab, ten

i’m Arab, ten
Spray that at me with venom all you like,
Do you realise my ancestors are prophets?
Whatever lashes off your breath with vengeance,
 lands on my skin with silken embrace.
Wesam El dahabi

It utterly baffles me when white supremacists herald themselves as civilised,
as the benchmark for humans to rise to, in the name of Jesus, in the name of Moses, in the name of whatever religious figure they suppose and they forget,
Jesus, Moses, Muhammad, Abraham, Jacob, Soloman, Joseph, and every prophet that ever lived was of African to Middle Eastern decent.

Enough with your amnesia, enough with your cognitive dissonance and dissociation with reality.

I have firm conviction that people who think this way have serious cognitive abilities, bordering on mental health issues. Their spiritual states are a given, there is nothing Jesus like nor holy about them.

But to throw an insult at me like ‘hey Arab’, is the most laughable. You do realise the word Arab only exists in a negative framework in a mind that has been utterly shaped by empty media rhetoric, void of any meaningful and rightful association to negativity.  Calling me an Arab with intent to insults only affirms my conviction and love of my heritage.

Structural racism, selective amnesia, hate, prejudice and bigotry are not diseases and states that can be cured overnight, or ever, if someone is comfortable bathing in lies and misinformation.

In the words of a George Galloway in a recent debate, ‘The Iraqi’s were teaching the world Algebra when you (English) were sitting in forests painting your faces blue’.

If you’re that stupid and gullible to fall for media jargon, then it’s high time you wake up and realise the true worth of civilisations far more ancient than your infantile colonialist forefathers and their successors to present time will have you believe.


i don’t matter

-i don’t matter

my heart hurts
my head hammers

in the light of black lives matter
and the drudgery of all lives matter

all i am trying to do
is not matter


i burn,
for the endless pain that my brothers and sisters have to endure,
my grandest of ancestors,
are not what can pass under the radar,
without the scrutiny of the colour trained eyes,
they would see them a mile away,
they still see them in my eyes.

their tongues are tied and pronunciation poor,
except when it comes to pronouncing something foreign,
then they are experts in all things culture, religion, politics and war,
boy do they fucking know war.

i am heavy with the guilt of half my skin,
for the idiocy of pretending everything matters,
not brown enough for being completely lashed,
nor white enough to be given the pass of passage,
into the realm of privilege.

olive man, brown boy,
heavy name because two syllables is too hard to pronounce,
but shariah, Osama, Al Qaeda roll off their lips like they’re natives.

no, i knew inside i didn’t matter a long time ago,
i only chose not to,
later in my life.

when winter protected me from abuse,
as I paled into the sea of whiteness like them all,
but summer makes me glow like an Arabian horses coat.

they want my skin in summer,
because it makes for exotic photogenic,
they all want my skin,
to touch it,
rub their hands over it like it is a precious silk,
i become the envy of the melanin challenged.

it’s just a tan in summer,
i am safe from scrutiny,
because it makes for seasonal comfort.

look closer you colour blind fools,
it’s always brown,
it’s always olive.

it’s just golden in summer,
ironic, that my ‘badge’ is ‘gold’.

Wesam (two syllables for ‘badge of merit’)
El dahabi (four syllables for ‘the golden’)

my name means something to my mother,
to my father,
to my ancestors perhaps,
but to me, it matters not at all,
because that is how to take away,
the ammunition of those who do or don’t want you to matter.

they can’t make or unmake you.




The lowest form of identity

is patriotism


A belief that the name of a continent of birth defaults you to to practise prejudice against someone who’s own default steers them in the same but perhaps opposing manner as you, as if to say the purpose of humankind is to wipe each other out, of course in the name of grand old patriotism.

And politicians, governments and media are well aware of this, so they strip you of your true human identity, blast you with chemicals as soon as you leave the womb, myriads of injections, make your mother believe she doesn’t have the strength to do what a woman’s body is designed to do, cut you by force from her belly, and if she is lucky to deliver you naturally, cut the umbilical cord whilst it is still pulsating the love and nurture from her, a symbolic gesture of what lays ahead.

The chemical bombardment of drugs, food laden with toxins, water rancid with disease, an education model parading as liberating, a wolf in sheep’s clothing of the ulterior dumbing down of the masses and entrenching you in a separation from your true self, until you know nothing but this masquerade of what it is to be, to know your origin.

The severing of you from you begins the minute your fathers loins thought about finding a fertile home in your mother, both of them too, carrying the blood of manipulated and numb to the core beings, mindlessly obeying, worshipping the state and the system over what is truth and what is real.

And you…. well you have your patriotism, a golden stamp on your hand of your obedience to them.

Drape your shoulders in their flag,
tattoo their anthems on your breast,
congratulations, you’re not a patriot,
you’re bereft.


S.W.A.D. – Specific White Amnesic Disorder


I have a clinical term I will present to the DSM this year to list amongst the thousands of others they have voted in over the last half a century.

‘SWAD’ – ‘Specific White Amnesic Disorder’.

Reserved only for white people who didn’t realise, or couldn’t imagine a scenario of white colonialist history when presented with the facts about oppressive and racist pasts.

Like a chunk of their brain magically went missing that recalls history that was never taught. It’s not an excuse you can use to say, ‘Oh, I didn’t know that’.


Something has got to give. We can’t keep playing this reverse psychology, flipping the script, turning the truth and blatantly outright denying the facts, that white privilege affords a comfort that people of colour aren’t privy to.

There’s a convenience of playing dumb, or just outright being that uneducated when the general populace is presented with facts about the history of white colonialism, white oppression, white genocide of non whites, killing, murder, rape, pillage, theft, manipulation, power, control, stealing of natural resources, influence of war against, perpetuating international crimes against people of colour and natives of land. We cannot pretend to be shocked, and surprised, worse, lie about not knowing, pretend it doesn’t or didn’t exist.

Structural racism is so embedded in media influence, corporate influence, monetary influence, educational and government policy that even people of colour can be found denying history or detached from the reality that is attached at the hip to darwinistic-eugenicist-white supremacy. Since it’s disgusting theory was espoused, white men have hung on to such corrosive discourse with their dear lives, able to have shifted cultural and social paradigm until people are so numb and so lazy that they won’t even bother to get educated.

A wash of spume comes over them in the form of amnesia, even if they are educated in the destructive history and it becomes convenient to billboard at any given moment, to take to the stands of academe, to rise to the platforms of social media and hashtag alllivesmatter, as a supposed solution to #blacklivesmatter, not knowing that in reality, the simplicity of their intellect exposed, shows their inbuilt white privileged defence mode is entrenched with a weighty carving. Breaking such prejudice is near impossible without a blatant slap in the face, perhaps a kick in the groin to bring to reality their uttermost awareness and then have them focus on the subject at hand.

We don’t feel, we don’t realise, we can’t comprehend, we are utterly, cluelessly bereft of actual learning and understanding, and there has to be drastic measures to shake such disgusting and hidden racist vitriol out of a person, because the same way it is a learned trait, it can be unlearned, but the mirror has to be held up to these narcissists who are so threatened when faced with the reality of who they are and what they believe.

If you support a person of colour, race, sexuality, religion or gender against oppression, it doesn’t take an iota away from your colour, race, sexuality, religion or gender.

As straight as I am, happily married with children to boot, I don’t become gay if I take measures to defend a gay person.

As religious as I am, it in no way diminishes from my spirituality if I lose my voice standing up for the rights of anyone to practise their faith, or non-faith.

You don’t ever become lesser by standing up, you become more human than ever, more relatable to and respected by more people.

Unless of course your idea of humanity is segregation, separation, partitioning and isolation. Perhaps then, all you need to do is remove yourself from the social sphere, find a place where you can be on your own without infecting others, because make no mistake, you ARE the disease, you ARE the problem.

All lives can’t matter until the most oppressed lives are brought to the same privileged as the rest of the world. Until then, #blacklivesmatter matters more, otherwise your memory is dismally poor, I worry you actually might be brain damaged, not amnesic.



does it break your back

that I carry ancestors on mine?


why does culture bother you my friend?
is it because the sun does not touch your facethat you must deny everyone Gods grace?
perhaps because winds don’t cool your temperament
no one else feels gusts – you assume

the past time of tea
is not enough to quench your soul
the ceremony
that can otherwise make Japanese whole

you perplex me why my ancestry
something that belongs to me
can be the source of your misery

gnash teeth, brace your heart
point your spear
worse than a witches hunt

where is he,
beard, melanin full, accent thick,
eyes of war

where is she
only twerk worthy, ebony fantasy, she’s too veiled from me
let me liberate her with my placid inability

this is not your country
colour person, white as snow or dark as night
now we’re given the green light
to hate you with everything we got
to haplessly fight

rats out of the dark
scurrying to eat stale crumbs
you haven’t risen
still in the dark ages
still in the slums

the history of England will never change
a world of colonisation,
the only people left to burden with white globilisation
are the ones who are your blindest followers
who have taken well to immunisation
thinking they’re free under the banner of imperial sterilisation
little do they know,
they’re the most shackled of nations.

i still don’t understand
why someone’s culture,
preference in general,
could stifle  you
and make you such a burden on yourself
all that dead weight you carry
can’t be good for your health



Ironic that a country that has not left a stone unturned,
to steal even the grain of sand from underneath it,
who’s monarchy cannot ever be satiated,
ever on a diet of spoils of war,
is now left with one more country to devour….


You stole poetry, that’s not yours
art, that’s not yours
medicine, that’s not yours,
resources, that’s not yours
oil, that’s not yours
land, that’s not yours
minerals, that’s not yours
science, that’s not yours
history, that’s not yours
religion, that’s not yours
And now that the owners of all those things are in your country living,
Ironically not asking to collect what’s theirs,
You claim,
this country….

it’s not yours

Fuck off to your dark ages, with your white supremacy,
Hell, you never left.

Dear Australia

aboriginal flag

Dear Australia,

I am sorry, I am not donning the red white and blue today.
This in no way or form makes me an ingrate to the privilege I have enjoyed growing up in this country.

This makes me a human, in full working capacity, able to acknowledge truths when they stand above him, when they stare him in the face in the back alley of his soul.

I can’t take those truths on no matter how hard I try and it is not because of lack of ability to intellectualise, theorise, philosophise or fantasise, whatever one of those ‘ise’ I implore, they are misdirection, misspelling of one word, LIES.

I am big, I am strong and I am secure in my convictions. I am faithful, I am honest and I am kind to my fellow man. I have a heart and I have a soul and I certainly have a mind and they all direct me to put my fists down, to submit my mind, to squeeze my heart and to hold my breath as I dive into oceans of truths that lay secrets buried under beds of atrocities anchored to the history of what makes this country.

I am ashamed. I am not of white descendants. I am not of European colonialist background, my ancestors had nothing to do with the genocide of the original custodians of this land, but I am still ashamed and the burden of guilt grows more and more as I age.

My own people have faced persecution too. For over one hundred years, white supremacy aims to drill into the heart, to burn the fabric of our cultures too. We’ve experienced genocide in the thousands of millions, uncountable numbers for no reason than also being custodians of land that contains valuable resources, that is conveniently in the way of their money pursuits, politics being the scapegoats for the reality of pure greed, brown skin the marketing medium to justify their propaganda push to kill people, human beings, people with cultures and heritages thousands and thousands of years old.

So my Aboriginal brethren, I feel your anguish, never in the manner that can be materialised into the raw emotion that I witness on your beautiful faces, but I feel something. I can’t raise a thumbs up on this day, I can’t raise my eyes from the floor, I share your mourn. I share your sadness. I taste the bitterness that lingers without a sweetness to numb it ever. The taste becoming the familiar flavour forcing an inability to palate anything else.

Please accept my apology for not doing enough, not feeling enough, not knowing enough and being oblivious to anything but myself for all these years.

To God we belong and to God we return, collectively in front of Him will we be stripped naked of our hypocritical clothes, of our oppressor skin, of our privileged flesh and our sullied bones.

There with nothing but our souls, will the court room doors be flung open and in front Him will there be one witness to put us away, to close the trial on us. Our souls will testify against us and we will all pay for that guilt. The laws of nature are the laws of God, there can be no semantic outbursts of fanciness around this. The nomenclature of the soul will bare witness, it’s time humanity became familiar with that nomenclature, to perhaps spare itself the trial that awaits it, the perpetual torment that will haunt us when the trumpet is blown.

Forgive me



This article is one of the best I have read. Do yourself a favour. Put down the beers, the flags and the barbecue tongs. Read something and learn.


Australia day: A celebration of genocide



I don’t veer into politics much, but when it is turmoiled with such a tragic day of shamelessness, I feel compelled to speak up.

I’m as alpha as males come, but this fucking ripped me. Mesmerisingly the most beautiful ceremony I have ever seen…. fucking ever!

I wish more Australians appreciated culture in general and I wish once and for all this whole country would shut the fuck up and just listen….. the world has stories to tell, they’re ancient, the world is ancient. Australia is ancient. It is not two hundred and eighteen years old, any child who learns about Aboriginal heritage will be able to fill you in, adults though, a strange amnesia hangs over their heads in perpetual dark clouds.

In three days the nation will shamefully celebrate a monstrous atrocity.

We hail the name of a lying crook, a thieving peasant, a murdering, pillaging remnant of a human who was then raised to high status by her royal bitch, the Queen of putridness.

This shameful day I don’t celebrate. I might find a corner to mourn in, to share warmth with brethren who are hurt by this gesture, to cloak them in anything, serve a cup of tea, a word of sorrow…. anything but celebration.

I know the ceremony is meant to celebrate union and love, but there can be no love in a relationship culture-less and void of heritage. It just made me reflect on all cultures of the world and their various ceremonies, and more importantly Aboriginal heritage and culture, their ceremonies, their dances and how we’re so fucking racist after all this time, that a small cultural gesture scares the fuck out of a nation of tough guy footballers. The nation loses it’s mind over a cultural dance and spear throw, in the words of Aamer Rahman, their fake white feelings were hurt by a fake spear throwing’, so fucking fake Australia…. so poignant a reaction. I guess being fake, you recognised something and it hit a nerve.

Two hundred and eighteen years is not a culture and there are still people who cannot comprehend this. Let’s hope it doesn’t take another two hundred and eighteen to repent and pay penance.

But for now, cry as I did from this video…. Amazing…..

Watch the video first…. then read the words underneath the video of what the Haka translates to.


Pay attention
Listen up, take your stance!
Arms outstretched,
out and back!
Kss Kss

What is right is always right!
In – deed!
What is right is always right!
Ah… yes!

Be true to yourself, my son!
My concerns have been raised about you, so pay attention!…. .
What is this problem you are carrying?
How long have you been carrying it for?
Have you got that? Right, let’s go on.

So son, although it may be difficult for you
and son, although it seems to be unyielding
no matter how long you reflect on it
the answer to the problem
is here inside you.
Indeed! Indeed! Indeed! Yes, indeed!

Source: http://www.folksong.org.nz/tika_tonu/